


under the bubbles

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-26
Updated: 2011-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:11:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>chinga. bubble bath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under the bubbles

**Author's Note:**

> you can thank medland.

She tries not to think of him as she sits in the tub, hot water enveloping her body, desperately needed fluid comfort, soft bubbles up to her shoulders. The old claw-footed tub in her hotel is just what she needs. Well, it's one thing she needs. She furrows her brow at the infringing thought that she, Dana Scully, a portrait of female independence and self-reliance, might need a little more than what she can provide for herself.

She runs her hands slowly down her legs, the skin hot and smooth underwater, and reminds herself, again, not to think of him. She left him behind for a vacation, a vacation from his bullshit, she thinks as she slides her fingers up the insides of her thighs, settling her head back on the edge of the tub. One hand drifts between her legs, fingers feather-light, and she sighs softly and bites her lip. A vacation from his arguments, his demands, those eyes of his that could deconstruct her--

 _Oh, Dana. you shouldn't have gone there. Not to the eyes._ She thinks of that one specific tone of voice, his demanding tone, that tingles her body at times. It incites a little spark of anger commingled with her ever-present allurement to authority figures. In more practical terms, it makes her wet. _Tell me again,_ she sometimes thinks, staring at him with a challenging glare. _Tell me what to do again and I'll give you a real piece of my mind, Fox Mulder._

Her fingers have a mind of their own under the water. There is no way she is responsible for touching herself while thinking of his you-know-I'm-right smile, that ego that drives her absolutely mad sometimes--her fingers slip against her clit just thinking about it and she gasps--no, she really has no control over where this is going.

The bubble-laden water is still and her fingers are not, not at all, actually. With every circle of her clit, her mind wanders to him again--is he sitting at his desk, bent over a file? Is he working the meat out of a sunflower seed with a flick of his tongue and that masterful suck of his lips? She quivers at the spark that idea sends through her, of how he could open her up and eat her just like that, all while looking thoughtfully into her eyes, trying to get inside her head, to figure out her secrets.

She parts her lips to pant and bends her knees, her feet sliding on the smooth porcelain bottom of the tub. Gentle waves of the water lap against her chest as her arm moves more noticeably, directing her hand to move faster, directing her mind to think harder about his mouth, and then she starts thinking of his ass. And Jesus, how round it looks in his tailored suit pants when he's got his coat off, and how his pants hang around his hips like his belt is barely keeping them up, and she pictures the rigid muscles of his abdomen she knows she'd find if she just tugged up his shirt and pressed her mouth against the hot skin there--

She pushes two fingers inside of her as she thinks of how he'd feel when he entered her for the first time. She's tight, she knows she's tight, and he's so big, he has to be, and he'd be so hot and hard and he'd groan her name--not Dana, but Scully--as he started to rock into her body over and over, and she'd let herself go and let him fuck her hard, because she needs it. She really fucking needs it.

She thrusts her fingers inside of herself, slipping in and out, so wet for her idea of him, a moan escaping her lips, and her fingers become his cock, and she begs him outloud to fuck her harder, just like she would if he was there. She knows he'd like that.

She feels herself starting to come and pictures how he'd look when he was close--probably eyes half-closed, biting his lip, that look of concentration that nearly makes her dizzy when she sees it--and she slides her fingers over her clit to finish herself off, like he would if she was riding him. He'd slide his hand between them and rub her clit while she put her hands on his chest and raked it with her fingernails and gripped his hips with her knees and rode him until he came inside her.

She comes, under the bubbles, behind closed doors, hidden from the world outside. It hits her hard, a spark that starts beneath her fingers and travels up her body to her forehead, tingling every inch of the way. His name escapes her lips--Mulder, not Fox--a little more loudly than she expects, and her eyes snap open. She blinks as her breathing slows. She looks around the room, as if anyone could be watching, as if anyone could hear.

There's a part of her that's glad she's alone, twisted up with the part that suddenly, unexpectedly, misses him.


End file.
